Page 81 of This Wild Heart

Underneath that was the shirt he wore to every single one of my college games.

Underneath that was the shirt he wore to all my high school games.

One messy explosion after another, a relentless hammering inside my chest, my ears ringing from the impact.

“Brings you luck, kiddo,” he’d say. “What happens if I change my shirt out and you lose? I’d never forgive myself.”

The room was quiet while I stared down at the shirts in my suddenly trembling hand.

“I want to make him a quilt,” Sheila said in a quiet voice. “All the grandkids will get one. I have a whole closet full of your dad’s old shirts, and I can’t think of a better way to keep him with them. They can snuggle up underneath it, stay warm and cozy.” She swiped at her cheek. “He’d like that, don’t you think?”

Greer wrapped an arm around Mom’s back while Poppy cried quietly. “He’d love it, Mom. It’s a great idea.”

Anya carefully pulled the shirts from my grip, and my gaze flew up to her face. Why were her eyes so bright? I could see everything she was thinking.

The pity was thick. The sympathy made my head spin. The worry was the worst of all. What had I done to deserve this woman’s worry? Nothing.

I couldn’t even bring myself to touch her long enough totap, tap, tap.

While my brain imploded, all the walls inside shaking dangerously, Mom had taken Leo from Ivy’s arms, and when I risked a glance up, she was kissing his forehead. “He would’ve loved to meet you, young man.”

Boom.

Boom.

Boom.

There was nothing left. Nothing left to hurt, nothing left to destroy. It was just destruction. A burnt-out husk that felt like it would crumble in my hands.

“I don’t even know if he’s mine.”

The words were torn from my throat, the entire room going eerily still.

Sheila sucked in a breath. Cameron dropped his chin to his chest, and Ian’s brow furrowed. I didn’t even dare look at my sisters.

“Parker,” Sheila started.

I was up out of my chair in the next heartbeat, legs moving sluggish and slow like I was waist-deep in thick mud. By the time I shoved the front door open, I was pulling in short, gasping breaths, and the sound of someone calling my name again barely even registered as I jogged off the front porch and strode away from the house.

Chapter 21

Parker

Weak.

Weak.

Weak.

You should be over this by now.

It shouldn’t be this hard. You shouldn’t be this sad.

By the time Anya found me in the barn, I’d already been through every single fucking thing someone might say to me. The worst things I could say to myself.

She stood quietly in the open doorway, one of the cats winding around her feet with a friendly meow. They’d ignored me, probably because I stomped in like a fucking thunderstorm.

The skin over my knuckles was white from how tightly I gripped the ledge in front of me, and that was nothing compared to what was happening under the surface.

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